I can't keep watching you like this. You just sit there

Staring

Like it doesn't mean anything. Like nobody cares.

Of course they care.

I care.

Blonde hair gone limp, grey eyes cold and hard as flint, face pale and gaunt. You used to always care about your appearance; when did you stop?

When did you stop asking?

When did you stop thinking?

When did you stop living?

I don't know.

Was it last year, when you told me, when you held me and promised me it would be okay, despite what they said? No. Not then. You were alive back then.

Was it early on in this year, when the air was cold and blew us across the pavement, when the heating ran out and we had to huddle under a blanket together for warmth? No, definitely not then. You smiled back then.

I never see it anymore. I never see your eyes sparkle, your teeth glinting in that perfect grin you would always flash me whenever you won our fights. I used to hate the way you smiled at me like that, looking at me like you were all superior and better than me, the child inside me tempted to stick my tongue out at you and throw a tantrum. Sometimes I did.

I would do anything for that smile now. I try whatever I can. I dance in front of you, sit and chat with you, bring you hot mugs of tea and tuck you into bed at night, curling up beside you and pressing your cold fingers to mine. You never respond to me. You never even try.

I feel like getting mad, sometimes. It's not my fault you're like this. It's not anybody's fault but your own. You just shut down one day. You won't come out of your shell anymore, not even for me. Don't you know how much I love you? Don't you realise I would do anything for you?

It's strange, seeing you so insecure. You're always in the same position when I come and see you. You barely even blink, your chest only rises and falls softly. Sometimes I have to remind myself that your heart is still beating.

Dominic, wake up. Help me out here. I can't take it anymore. It's been half a year. Half a year since you died, and yet you're still here. Why?

I hate you, Dom. I hate you so much. You're an ungrateful bastard and I wish you could see that. There's no way I'd be running around after you if I had any other choice. I want to kick you back into action, to drag you off your arse and out into the sunlight for once.

You're so selfish. I can't go out, not without you, so I sit inside. I try to read, to watch TV, to cook dinner, but every five minutes I have to check up on you again to see if you've moved. I can't even write music anymore; it's always the same depressing chord pattern. Nothing will come out. You've exhausted me.

We had it so good, Dom. We were happy. I was happy. I dragged you around that Christmas market and we bought pancakes and German sausages. We flew through the air and I watched the bright lights glint off your hair, your face lit with wonder, and you were the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

I can't believe you're even the same person. You're not. Dominic is dead.

You are not him.

I told you. I told you and I shouldn't have done but I'm not sorry. I'm not sorry for telling you the truth, I'm not sorry for forcing you to look me in the eyes for once, and I'm definitely not sorry for being frightened.

Anybody would have been.

You looked right through me, Dom, I know you did. Your gaze just passed right through me, grey fixing on equally grey skies outside. It's nearly winter again, Dom, nearly our time again.

I tried to wake you up. I succeeded. You walked away.

You got up, legs stiff and straight, and walked right out of the house. You didn't say a word. You didn't turn back to me, you didn't flinch at my yelling. You just walked and walked and walked. I couldn't keep up with you, Dom. I ran after you and I tripped and I fell and I screamed and I pounded the ground and I wept into the floor until my eyes ran dry, but you didn't come back.

Don't you love me anymore?